


Wherever You Go (There You Are)

by big_twinkie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-22
Updated: 2012-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-29 22:36:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/324920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/big_twinkie/pseuds/big_twinkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While in a fugue state, Sherlock has to use his powers of deduction on himself to figure out who he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wherever You Go (There You Are)

**Author's Note:**

> You might think I'm incapable of loving a soul like yours.  
> ~ Mitchell Stephens, journalist
> 
> Disguise is the art of hiding in plain sight.  
> ~ Some guy said it. I don’t remember who…does it matter?

 

1

 

His heart is pounding, but he doesn’t see a threat ( _where_?).  He’s nervous just the same, sets his hands on his thighs and wills himself to be calm. His sleeves are dirty, but his hands are clean.  He looks about furtively at other faces and they turn away. They refuse to return his gaze. He doesn’t remember how he got here.

He’s in carriage, yes, the sound of grinding against the rail, the sensation of moving slightly to and fro.  There’s the smell of people pressed together, the cacophony of other people’s conversations.

“It’s a no-win situation. ” _Older gentleman, Yorkshire accent._   “Just can’t win. A bloody year, you pay your co-op, the service gets worse.”

“What’s a murkin?” _Woman. Definitely raised in Winchester._

“Uhhhhhhhhhh…it’s, it’s like a toupee,” _American. Awkward. Please, don’t explain it further._

The train crawls slowly towards the station.  There’s another train in front of them, slowing their progress. He stares down at himself.

 _Green puffer jacket, dirty. A variety of soils. I’ve been traveling extensively._ There’s something hard pressed against his right side, under his armpit. He opens his coat to check, his fingers gently investigating. _Leather. A holster. I’m armed._ He quickly redoes the snaps on his coat and looks to see if anyone noticed.  They all seem content not to observe his behavior. 

He checks for a wallet, sifts through its contents.  _Five hundred quid, but no forms of ID. Inconvenient._  He checks his coat pockets and pulls out a mobile phone.  _Expensive._ He looks closer still. _Moisture inside. Was submerged?_ He tries to turn it on, but has no luck.

His shoes don’t match; one is brown, the other a dingy white.  They look worn out. _I spend a lot of time walking._ His trousers are a size too big, also stained.  He whips off an itchy wool cap and scratches his forehead.  _I’m a transient with 500 quid, a high-end Blackberry, and a concealed handgun._

These are minor details.

He knows Atropa belladonna is a perennial herbaceous plant in the family Solanaceae, native to Europe, North Africa, and Western Asia.  He knows spiders, like most arthropods, have an open circulatory system. Their bodies are filled with haemolymph, which is pumped through arteries into spaces called sinuses surrounding their internal organs. He also knows that if the position of a body found does not match the location where it is found, that could mean someone has moved it. 

What he doesn’t know is his own name.  It sounds terribly clichéd until it happens to you.  He feels fine.  Alarmed yes, but not injured. He gingerly runs his fingers through his hair. If he has a head injury, he can’t tell. He’s lucid at any rate.

Something terrible has happened to him, but he doesn’t know who to call.  He should avoid the police, as he could be a criminal. He should probably go to the hospital, but again, he’s not sure if that’s the best course of action. _Insufficient data._ Then again, he hopes the wallet and phone is his. He retrieves the Blackberry and wonders if he can get it to work. Just pop the case off and dry it out. Hope for the best.  

The train finally stops.  Passengers slowly press against each other as they shuffle out. A voice over the intercom announces the train is late.  _Queen Street Station._ He’s in Exeter.  Well, he can’t stay here and Exeter will have to do.

 _I’m not a violent person._ He thinks it, but he doesn’t believe it.

 


End file.
